Sins and Repercussions
by Icywingsoffire
Summary: Draco has more of a family than he bargained for, while Harry has none. Vodka and a hero complex lead the two to team up, but does either really have what the other needs? M for slash and language.
1. A Collage of Broken Homes

**Hey y'all! This is the latest of my imaginings (another Drarry because I will undoubtedly go down with this ship). To kick us off, no, I don't own the characters or settings. I get to play with them, but I have to return them later.**__**Also, this is set post- DH, but not following the epilogue. The pairings all stand, but no one has kids. That should cover everything… anyways, enjoy!**

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After surviving something as earth-shattering as the second wizarding war, you think you've suffered it all. You've lost friends, comrades, your sanity… and you think to yourself, surely there's nothing else you could possibly suffer. But then, against all odds, your world finds a way to crumble and corrode even mode, your very foundation carried away by a river of misfortune.

That's what it felt like when Ginny left me.

It's not as if I could have done anything to prevent it. I didn't ask for reporters and fans to constantly harass us, for people to plague her with questions every time she went out. I didn't ask for her to become simultaneously guilty and adored, simply by association. She spent three years with me, trying to come to terms with the fact that some would love her and some would want her dead, simply because she was my wife.

The final straw certainly wasn't my fault, either. Ginny knew that I would never be unfaithful to her. She even admitted that much after the fact. So when the front page of the Daily Prophet started declaring that I'd been seen in all manner of seedy hotels, bars, and brothels with dozens of different women, it wasn't that she thought it was true, she just couldn't handle it anymore.

Couldn't handle the pity, couldn't handle the stares that said, "There's the woman that couldn't keep Harry Potter faithful…" It didn't matter that every word was a lie. What mattered was that she'd had enough of living under scrutiny, because that was hardly a life at all.

Or at least, that's what she said over her shoulder as she walked out of my door and my life.

As usual, the bottom of my firewhiskey bottle didn't give me any kind of answer as to how to move on from this point. Here it was, two months later, and all I could do was sit around stupidly and try my hardest to drink myself into oblivion or a revelation, whichever came first.

" 'Nother one, mis'er Po'er?" the barkeep asked, and I nodded. Just one more. Then I'd go home.

I was halfway through that one, and leaning farther and farther towards oblivion, when the warmth of the near-empty bar was disturbed by a rush of cool, early-spring air as the door to Diagon Alley opened and shut. I wouldn't have looked up at all, though, if it weren't for the familiar voice that called out to the barkeep.

"Just a hot coffee, sir," Draco Malfoy was saying. He strode towards a stool at the other end of the bar without his usual Malfoy swagger, not seeming to notice me at all. Behind him floated a basket filled with some sort of fabric that I couldn't quite see. He collapsed, rather than sat, on the stool and put the basket one seat over before dropping his head into his hands in the universal sign of exhaustion and defeat.

The barkeep, a bloke named Joe, placed the coffee in front of Malfoy, then excused himself into the back room for a minute. Malfoy lifted his head to drink, and I saw lines of worry and stress etched into a face that had aged far beyond the youth I remembered, though it was only a few years ago that we'd last met.

"Just a coffee, Malfoy?" I said, and was rewarded with the startled look on his face when he finally looked to see who sat down the bar from him.

When he did notice me, his face turned sour. "Not tonight, Potter. Of all nights, not tonight."

I frowned. I hadn't meant to antagonize. Any animosity I'd once held towards Draco Malfoy had been dulled by age, wisdom, and copious amounts of alcohol. Everyone did things in the war that they now regretted- it was a world where fear and pain could damn near blind you to consequences, I understood that just as well as anyone.

I reached around the bar- I was enough of a regular here to know where everything was and to feel comfortable helping myself- and poured a shot of Joe's strongest vodka. As I sat back down on my stool, I slid the shot down the bar, where it came to rest inches from Malfoy's elbow.

He looked down at the shot and up at me. "What's this, then?" he asked suspiciously.

I gave him a lopsided grin. "You need more than coffee tonight, mate. I'm four firewhiskey's deep and even I can tell that." I saluted him with my half-empty bottle. "Go ahead, it's on me. The strongest stuff in the house, I guarantee it."

He grimaced a little, but no longer looked as though he suspected me of some nefarious motive. "I shouldn't," he said, but more like he was trying to convince himself, rather than me. "I'm flying home tonight."

"I'll arrange a portkey for you myself if it comes to that," I assured him.

With a shrug, Malfoy picked up the shot and threw it back, scrunching up his face at the burn on the way down. "Thanks," he muttered.

"Sure."

He laughed once to himself as he put the empty glass down on the bar. "I probably should have checked that for poison before downing it, eh? Some Slytherin I am."

I shrugged. "This isn't the war, Draco, and we're too old to let childhood grudges control us."

"This was more than a Quidditch rivalry," he argued, but slowly, as if he was unsure why I wasn't on his side. "I don't know if you remember this, but I sort of teamed up with a group of murderers and sadists who destroyed nearly everything you ever loved and were out for your blood."

I finished my firewhiskey and tapped my fingers on the bar as I debated getting another. "Trust me, I remember it well." When I glanced back up, he seemed intent on looking everywhere but at me. "I come here every night trying to forget, in fact."

"Listen, I-"

"We were kids, Draco," I interrupted. "We all fucked up somewhere down the line, myself included. It's past, okay? The only thing that counts is what we choose to do now. Alright?"

He didn't look convinced, but he didn't argue. He kept his eyes trained on his hand- which, I noticed with a start, was conspicuously missing a ring.

"Where's your ring?" I blurted out. Age may have taught me how to forgive and forget, but as yet it hadn't dared to broach the lesson of tact.

He was quiet for a long moment, and I thought I'd overstepped whatever tentative truce we'd established for a second there. But finally he gave a seemingly glib retort. "Is this the part where I unload all of my troubles to you while sobbing into my empty shot glass?"

I smirked over at him. "Well, no one's forcing you to talk about it, but if you're going to-" I reached behind the bar once more "-I have the feeling that a full glass will be of more use than an empty one."

He grabbed the large bottle of vodka that I offered to him and refilled his glass. Two shots later, he seemed more friendly, which often happens as one blazes through a bottle of wizard vodka. "My ring," he started, "according to my wife, is at the bottom of the Amazon river, where she vanished it to after she ripped it off my finger as she threw my- I'm quoting now- 'sorry, good for nothing, cheating, motherfucking scumbag ass' –end quote- out of the house." As he vocalized it, the reality of the situation seemed to settle on him. "Shit," he muttered, and helped himself to another shot.

"Is it true?" I asked, now quite too drunk to care about propriety.

"Is what true?"

"Are you really a no-good… er… whatever, all of those things?"

He snorted. "Well, she was really just trying to find a creative and violent way to call me a cheater, and I really can't weasel my way out of that accusation, so…"

"Yikes," I supplied. "Did the veritaserum get you?"

"Worse. Undeniable evidence showed up on my doorstep in the form of Alexander Malfoy, my illegitimate infant son."

I waited for a punch line that never came. "Wait, are you serious?"

Instead of answering, Draco reached into the basket he'd brought with him and pulled out a bundle of blankets that- I now saw- contained a small baby boy slumbering quietly.

"Oh, fuck," I said simply.

He sighed. "My thoughts exactly."

"What- how did- who-"

"A very drunk, very regrettable one-night stand. Astoria and I were fighting, and I went out, and I met a woman… and I took her home… Well, you can figure out the rest." He knocked back another shot. "She was even kind enough to name him after me, wasn't that sweet? But her classiest move by far was when she decided she no longer wanted the child, and she kindly dropped him off at Malfoy Manor so that I got to come home to not only an irate wife, but also an infant that I'm now responsible for, despite the fact that I have no experience with children and I'm currently unemployed and homeless."

He said it all with the sugary, cheerful tone of the truly depressed, looking down at the sleeping bundle that he was awkwardly supporting. I tried to master my facial features instead of letting my jaw gape open like it threatened to do. "So what are you going to do?"

He snorted as he replaced the baby in the basket. "If I had a fucking clue, do you really think I'd be here?"

I chewed my lip, considering. "Listen, if you need a place to stay…" I may not be on a mountaintop myself, but at least I had a home, and money, two things Malfoy obviously needed. "I- well you could, I mean, I have room." I'd meant what I'd said about the past being the past, and I could hardly watch a man- Slytherin former Death Eater or not- and his child be turned out onto the streets.

The alcohol was definitely getting to him now. "To accept, or not to accept," he exclaimed, "that is the question. Whether tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of being a homeless man with a baby, or to face down pride and… accept housing. Or something." The end of the recitation was lost as he considered his empty glass. "I guess the only smart thing to do is say yes," he finally said. "And thanks," he rushed to add.

I smiled, even as I felt the alcohol tugging on the corners of my own consciousness. "No problem. Now," I said, standing, "there is no way either of us is capable of getting home under our own power, much less with a baby in tow, so let's go call the Knight Bus, shall we?"

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**How intense! Draco's got a plus one, Harry's (still) got a hero complex, and now they're going back to Harry's place? WHAT? I know you can hardly wait for the next chapter, right? Hee hee. If I get 5 reviews before the next time I post, I'll tell you why I chose Alexander as the name! Haha. Thanks for reading, y'all. :) **


	2. The Face of a Black

**SO CLOSE to five reviews. But whatever, I'm too much of a wimp to stick to those guns, anyway. The reason why I chose Alexander as the baby's name is that whenever I picture an adult Draco Malfoy, I picture Alexander Skarsgard, who is a COMPLETELY DROP DEAD FUCKING GORGEOUS actor. I swear, his face will instantly improve your day. And that voice…. Wow, I'm getting sidetracked. On to chapter 2!**

**(But seriously, go look him up.)**

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I wasn't entirely sure which one of us was more drunk.

"Here we are," I said, fumbling with the latch on the garden gate. It took a few tries, but eventually I managed to open it and stumble inside. I held it open for Draco, but when I turned back to him, he wasn't following me, but merely standing there, swaying slightly on the spot, Alexander's basket floating gently next to him.

"Something wrong?"

He gave me a doubtful look. "_This_ is where you live?"

As I gazed up at my home, I could see why he hesitated. To most unsuspecting passerby, the lot held the same destroyed old house that people had been coming to Godric's Hollow to visit for decades. It was only when you expected to see something different there that, like with number 12 Grimmauld Place, you could see the true building.

My first action after the war had been to return to Godric's Hollow. It was the place where it all began, and I'd never really gotten the closure I desired from the place. So I thought, how appropriate it would be if I, like a phoenix, rose from the ashes of my past and created a new life for myself here, in this near-sacred place. Hermione had helped me- as usual- and together we'd rebuilt my childhood home into an exact replica of what it once was. Every detail, from the furniture to the photographs, reflected the home of my parents from all those years ago. The same place that stood as a monument to their extraordinary love for me, for each other, and for what was right.

Ginny has always thought it was a little morbid.

"Here," I said to Draco. "Grab my hand, it'll help you see through the enchantment."

He stepped inside the gate and obediently took my hand, his skin clammy against mine. I heard him gasp and knew he now saw the real building. "Come on," I said, dropping his hand as I moved towards the house.

I was barely in the door when Kreacher came bounding up to me. "Is Master able to get up the stairs tonight, or should Kreacher make up a bed down here?" His wide eyes were sad, and I felt a mixture of shame for putting Kreacher through this so often- and embarrassment that Malfoy had probably just heard that.

"I'm fine, Kreacher," I said hastily, not honestly knowing whether that was true or not. "We have company," I hastened to add.

Kreacher's eyes moved past me, towards the doorway where Malfoy and his bundle stood. An expression of shock crossed his face as recognition dawned. "But this is Miss Cissy's son, Master's enemy!" he gasped. "Master must not let him in, Master must not trust him!"

"Kreacher, no, it's alright!" I cleared my throat, looking from the confused elf to the abashed man. "Draco isn't my enemy anymore, and I've invited him to stay with us, alright?"

Unconvinced, Kreacher kept his eyes on Draco even as he gave a bow. "Very well, Master. Kreacher will prepare the guest room," he said, turning to leave.

"Actually," I said, "I'll need you to make up the crib, too." Kreacher looked confused. "Mister Malfoy has a baby with him, Kreacher, who needs looking after. Can you do that?"

Kreacher turned his eyes to the basket. "It has been a very long time since Kreacher has taken care of a baby…" He stepped forward and plucked the basket out of the air to peer at the baby inside. "Oh, he has Black blood in him, Kreacher can see it. He has the face of a Black, he does…" His voice trailed off, and I wasn't sure whether he'd been talking to us, or if he'd gone back to his old ways of muttering to himself. "Kreacher will take care of the baby Malfoy," he suddenly announced, and without further ado, scurried up the stairs and out of sight with a smile on his face and a little Malfoy baby tucked securely in his bony arms.

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**Short, and mostly expository, but I thought it was cute. Anyways, I miss Kreacher. After Harry stopped being an ass to him, he turned out really cute! But then Queen Rowling never really said what happened to him post-war. :/ Leave me a note? I'll be your best friend :) 3**


	3. A Bridge of Neccesity

It's a testament to how frequently I went to bed wasted that I woke the next morning to find that Kreacher had already put a vial of Merlin's Finest Hangover Cure on my bedside table. I took a big gulp of it and almost instantly felt the pounding in my head fade.

I opened my eyes to look at the cream walls and lace curtains of what was once my parent's bedroom. The sunlight trickled in, creeping across my pillow towards my unruly hair and lightning scar. There was a moment of blissful peace before I remembered that last night wasn't exactly standard. I sat up, my neck cracking as I whipped my head around to look at the wall, on the other side of which my boyhood rival was now sleeping.

An unfamiliar sound broke the silence of the early morning. After a moment, I realized what it was- a baby. Rising from bed and pulling on a pair of fresh boxers, I shuffled across the hall and laid a hand on the doorknob of the nursery.

I had only come in here once since I'd restored the house. It was strange to think that this was the room in which it all started. I had made history here- my mother had died for me here. How many times had the story been told, with children and adults alike imagining this very room as the place where the Boy Who Lived- well, lived?

I pushed aside the thoughts and opened the door. Alexander lay in the crib, one little hand stretching up towards the ancient mobile hung above him. He had the same pale skin and white-blond hair as his father, but- I saw with astonishment- eyes of the same shocking green as my own. He giggled, and I felt myself smiling back at him. It was like he had no idea how complicated he was.

I shook my head. Of _course_ he didn't know, he was a _baby_.

"Shame he looks so much like me, isn't it?" Draco had appeared in the doorway, wearing only what appeared to be a pair of my pajama pants. My eyes wanted to stay on him- to linger on the mark on his arm, and the lines on his shoulders where the wrinkles of his sheets had pressed into his skin, and the way those pants were just a little too low on his hips- but I didn't let them.

"Er- what?"

Draco moved towards me. "His mother is stunning. To look at her… it must be magic, because no one could possibly look like that on her own." He grimaced to himself. "I should probably be talking about her like she's dirt, considering the circumstances, but…" He paused. "Anyways, he'd be better off looking like her, wouldn't you say?"

He seemed to forget that I was there for a moment, moving to lean over the side of the crib, gazing down at Alexander. "You'll have enough to overcome in this world just by your name, my son." He trailed one finger across Alexander's pink little cheek in a gesture so affectionate I would have hardly thought he was capable of it. A little hand came up and wrapped around that finger, and the both of them smiled, each grin the mirror image of each other. I couldn't decide which to watch, the man or the child.

_Looking like you, Draco, is not a bad thing._ For what seemed like the umpteenth time that morning, I brushed aside a thought that I had no idea where it came from, and hesitated, unsure what to do or say.

But it appeared as though Draco wasn't paying me any mind anyways. He was picking up Alexander, and holding him against his shoulder. I smiled. Draco may not have experience with children, but he had instinct, and that was serving him well enough. Alexander, whether from recognition of Draco as his father or an amiable disposition I wasn't sure, reached a chubby fist to the crown of Draco's head and grabbed a tuft of hair, giving it an affectionate tug that Draco graciously ignored.

"So this is it, huh?" Draco said, looking around the room. _How unlike him_, I thought, _to be reflective._ For all the time that I had known him, Draco was a man of action. It was like a new person before me now, to be willing to stand and remember when there were things to be done. But perhaps I judged too harshly. I, of all people, knew how time and experience could change a man.

"Uh, yeah," I said, "this is it." I watched as Draco's gray eyes traveled over the crib, the mobile, the pictures of a smiling, scarless Harry on the walls. I ran a hand through my unruly hair. "I can uh, take those down," I said, gesturing to the frames.

"No, I like them," he replied. A flicker of surprise flitted across his face as the strangeness of his words caught up with him. "What I meant was- well, it's your house, you can have whatever pictures you want." He looked away, as if hiding his eyes would stop me from noticing that he had inadvertently show- what, affection?- for me.

"Well," I said slowly, "I just thought- well, if this is going to be Alexander's room-"

Draco's head whipped around to face me, his brow creasing. "His room?"

I froze- this was becoming a habit I was not at all fond of- as Draco seemed to search me, and found myself wishing that I'd bothered to learn occlumency. But Draco didn't have to read my mind to understand the source of the confusion. I could see it click in his mind as the gears fell into place. He took an involuntary step back, away from me. "No, listen Harry, I'm not staying, I- I only needed a place to stay for the night."

"It's perfectly alright, I- I mean, I don't mind at all, I-"

"No, I really can't-"

"You don't have to rush off!"

Draco was staring resolutely at the floor, his pale skin flushed with embarrassment. I felt my stomach sinking. In my rush to make Draco understand that he was welcome here, I had become aggressive, yet almost pleading. I bit down a curse. Not only was I hurting his pride- to accept help from me, again, after he'd already endured the shame of me saving his life!- I was hurting my own. I would not, _could_ not, be reduced to begging for him to stay.

I was alone. That didn't mean I had to be pathetic.

Draco cleared his throat- I wished I could clear mine of the lump forming there- and shuffled his feet. "Look, I'll just get dressed and we'll be out of your way. Thanks for uh, letting us crash," he mumbled, and turned to hurry out of the room.

"Draco, wait." With his back to me, he wouldn't have seen the arm I'd stretched after him like I was attempting to catch him and anchor him here, but I dropped it anyway. I couldn't tell which of my emotions was strongest; embarrassment at the fact that I was so obviously desperate for company, or the desperation itself. I could see lines of tension running through Draco's back and shoulders, and knew that this was just as difficult, if not more so, for him.

"Look, you don't have anywhere to go. It doesn't make sense- dammit, just stay, alright?" I couldn't control the plea in my voice now. Not when I was so close to having someone, anyone, around again so that I wouldn't have to face the crushing reality that _I was alone._

He turned, slowly, and looked at me. "I can't," he said. "I just _can't_." Just as I was desperate to end my solitude, he was desperate to find it. I could hear it in his words, and see it in his eyes- he was afraid that letting someone support him would only end in them letting him down.

"You can't just ask me to surrender, alright?" he said, suddenly intense. "I have spent my entire life learning how to fend for myself, Harry, and do you know why that is? _Because no one takes care of a man like me."_

I lifted my hands, then dropped them, helpless. "I would," I whispered lamely.

He was going to refuse. I could tell. He'd already lost too much- too much pride, too much status- and he wasn't going to risk losing any more.

But just then, Alexander giggled. And that simple sound brought the both of us back to the present, out of the past we'd shared and the future we were both- separately, but similarly- terrified of. Draco just stood there, looking at his son, so like himself, yet so utterly helpless, so dependent despite what his father would want for him-

"I… I guess," Draco started slowly, and I could practically hear the thump of his heart beating faster, "if you don't mind… I mean, just until I get back on my feet."

There was a truce there, a bridge between two people who were seemingly doomed to be forever at odds with one another. It wasn't a strong one, but it was built on need, and that was enough. I needed for someone to just be there, and he needed someone to lean on as he tried to figure out how to move forward. He knew that I was desperately alone and broken, that I wanted him to stay perhaps a little too much. I knew that he was scared of losing anything else, and that it would take a long time before he learned to trust anyone not to hurt him. We both needed each other so much that despite all that had happened between us, we were going to let each other in.

I drew a shaky breath. "Thank you."

Draco smiled.

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**God, I had to edit the heck out of that one. It's tough, trying to reconcile enemies, but where there's a will, there's a way. **

**IMPORTANT NOTE: I briefly mentioned a mark on Draco's arm, and I'm going to do more with that later. I am referring, of course, to the Dark Mark. I know that we never really got a straight answer out of Rowling as to whether or not Draco ever received the Mark, so I can't guarantee that it's canon, but I love the symbolism of scars and how they both change us and represent us, so… I'm choosing to have him Marked.**

**Questions? Comments? Concerns? Funny anecdotes? You know where to leave them!**

**Thanks, guys.**


	4. How a Man Comes to Be

**Let me preface this by saying that at this point, Alexander is somewhere around 3-4 months. Remember, his mother only came to Draco with Alexander after she'd decided she no longer wanted him, so he's not exactly a newborn. He's old enough to have personality and respond to stimuli, but still young enough to require a lot of care and attention. If I make any mistakes regarding to what's normal for a baby at any given age, forgive me. I have zero experience with babies that young!**

**Thanks guys :)**

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It was a long moment before I thought of something- anything- to say. "Breakfast?" I blurted out. True to form, I was bumbling and inarticulate, but Draco either didn't notice or didn't comment.

"Sure, he replied, a smile tugging at his lips.

More awake than I'd been at this hour in a long time, I led Draco down the narrow stairs and into the little kitchen. "I'm not sure what we have to eat," I said over my shoulder, realizing as I said it that it was true. Most mornings I slept right through the breakfast hour or didn't feel like eating much. As a matter of fact, I never felt much like eating anymore. As Hermione never hesitated to tell me, I was getting woefully thin.

Draco joined me in opening all of the cabinets, most of which contained only mouse droppings and dust bunnies. "Let's see what we have here," he muttered, his cheerful tone making plain that he was teasing me, but playfully. "Baking soda- yum. Canned green beans- tempting! Oh, here's a box of pasta- no, wait, that expired in 1989. Aha, here's the good stuff!"

Turning, I saw with mortification that Draco had found the one cabinet that was always in stock- the liquor cabinet. It was crammed with glass bottles and tumblers of all shapes and sizes, holding a rainbow of alcoholic beverages. Draco turned and quirked an eyebrow at me. "Party hard, Potter?"

"Something like that," I muttered, just as Kreacher appeared before us.

Saved by the house elf.

"Good morning, Master, mister Malfoy, baby Malfoy," he said cheerfully. "Should Kreacher make up some breakfast? Kreacher could make a fine breakfast- and something for the baby Malfoy, too."

"Yes, thank you," I hurried to respond, grateful that he, at least, was on top of things.

We sat down at the table, Draco putting Alexander into a highchair- my highchair- that Kreacher had found in the attic. The content little elf hummed as he flitted around the kitchen, making eggs, toast, bacon and pancakes. For Alexander, Kreacher had mashed some unidentifiable green vegetable into a creamy paste before leaving it up to Draco to do the actual feeding. It only took a few minutes of Draco simply holding the spoon full of mush in the general vicinity of Alexander's mouth for Kreacher to take pity on the poor, inexperienced man.

"May Kreacher makes a suggestion, mister Malfoy?" said Kreacher hesitantly, as if unsure whether offering parenting advice to a house guest was overstepping or not.

"Uh, sure," said Draco, clearly thrown off guard. I reminded myself that- according to Dobby- house elves in the Malfoy house were treated very differently than they were here, and Draco was probably unaccustomed to being addressed by one beyond 'yes sir' and 'no sir.' It was also worth noting, however, that he sat quietly when Kreacher spoke, intently watching as he demonstrated how to coax Alexander into opening his mouth so that he could slip the spoon of offensive food into his mouth while he was distracted.

Draco took over once again, and I watched him interacting with his son with no little amusement. His mouth was twitching a little, as if by subconsciously opening and closing his own lips, he could somehow make Alexander do the same. It was like Ron, who had a habit of twisting and turning his body whenever he watched a Quidditch match, as if he could really effect which way one of the players would move. In Draco's case, however, my amusement was amplified by the fact that Draco was making the most ridiculous faces, and seemed altogether unaware that he was doing so at all.

I tried to stifle my laughter, but one particularly contorted expression caused a snort to escape me. "What?" Draco asked, oblivious, turning from Alexander to look at me. "What's funny?"

"Nothing," I quickly lied. I couldn't be sure, but I thought I heard Kreacher snickering as he placed the steaming platters of breakfast food on the table before us.

Alexander- who I could already tell was an unnaturally smart baby- took advantage of Draco's distraction, however slight. He swept one chubby arm across the tray of the highchair, knocking the little ceramic dish with the last few bits of mashed vegetable- a meal I was fairly certain Alexander had _not_ enjoyed- to the floor, where it shattered instantly.

"Shit- er, shoot," Draco swore, forgetting for a moment that he was supposed to be setting a good example for his son. "Sorry Harry, I'll fix that-"

"Don't bother," I said, waving it off as Kreacher started to wipe up the mess. "It was ugly anyway, I never liked it. Ginny was the one who picked it out, she-"

I stopped suddenly and felt my stomach turn over a few times. It was the first time I'd mentioned Ginny to Draco. It was the first time I'd said her name out loud, in fact, in quite a while. It was like during the war, when you couldn't say Voldemort's name. I was half afraid that if I said her name- a name I once tendered as dearly as my own- she might suddenly appear and rip my heart out again.

I saw out of the corner of my eye that Kreacher was watching me with trepidation, wondering, no doubt, if I would break down- go on one of those terrible drinking binges again- as experience had taught him I was likely to do. It was tempting; I knew that in a few shots, I would forget how much she hurt me, and a few shots after that I would forget her very name- but Draco's eyes were on me, too, searching. So I pushed the bottle from my mind and shrugged, picking up a piece of bacon and picking at it for no other reason than to have something to do.

Draco likewise began to fill his plate, and that teeter-totter moment passed. We ate in silence for a few minutes, interrupted only by Kreacher's offer to entertain "the baby Malfoy"- he refused to call him Alexander for some odd reason- in the other room, and Draco's accepting it. After a while, Draco cleared his throat.

"How _is_ Ginny, by the way?"

I was choking, either on food or emotion, and it took a minute before I could draw in a breath, let alone speak. "Hell if I know."

"I knew you guys had split up- it's, well, it's all over the media, of course, but- no one really knows what… happened."

"The media happened," I snapped, and it came out so much like a hiss that for a moment I was afraid I'd spoken Parseltongue, before I saw that Draco's face was marked only by confusion, not fear.

My eyes darted to the cupboard door behind which my collection of bottles lay. Just one drink-

"If you don't want to talk about it, that's totally fine," Draco said slowly, like a person trying to calm down a madman who was threatening to blow up the building.

I rubbed a hand across my eyes. "No," I said. "No, I owe you an explanation. We're roommates, after all," I said with a wry grin.

"If you're sure," he said simply.

"A while ago," I began, "the Daily Prophet printed an article about me supposedly having slept with a whole slew of witches, even after I was married to- to Ginny."

He looked at me. "Was it true?"

"_No."_

"But she believed it."

"No, no," I said. "It wasn't that, it's just-" I paused, trying to find the words. "Ginny never liked being the center of attention. She was used to being behind the scenes- a support, not a figurehead. She hated when people would talk about her or ask her questions or make a big fuss over her."

"So she married 'the Chosen One'?"

I sighed. "That was just the problem. She didn't deal well with the amount of press she got for just being there at the Battle of Hogwarts, let alone the attention that being my wife brought about. The negative publicity was the hardest, though. When Rita Skeeter posted that story about those women… she couldn't take it anymore. So she left." My hands were shaking. I needed a drink, just one, to calm my nerves a little…

"I always knew I had a good reason to hate the media," Draco said. "I've seen the shit end of that stick, too," he added, "when the war was over, and everyone kept expecting me to become the next Voldemort…" He paused, then dropped his head into his hands, exactly as he'd done the night before at the bar. "I suppose between you and me, this place will be swarming with media soon, once the news about Alexander gets out," he grumbled.

"Actually, no one knows I live here," I said.

"How'd you manage _that?"_

I shrugged. "The spells on the house are airtight. It looks like the same old ruinous house that people have been passing for 18 years now to everyone but my closest friends and people I invite in. And even if someone saw a person coming or going from the lot, their memory would be altered so that they forgot all about it."

He nodded. "Impressive."

"All Hermione."

"Well in any case, that'll come in handy once the story comes out."

I frowned. "How would they know about it?"

"What?"

"Well, I'm not telling, and Kreacher's not telling, so if you don't say anything, what's to stop you from waiting to talk about it until it's on your terms?"

He was shaking his head before I'd even finished. "Astoria will make sure that everyone knows, trust me," he muttered.

"Why?" I asked, leaning forward. "Wouldn't that be bad for her?" Draco obviously didn't follow my train of thought. "Well, why would she want to go around saying that her husband slept with other women? That's going to reflect badly on her, too, don't you think?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "She'll spin it so that she's the poor victim of a faithless monster. Like that's the truth…"

"What _is_ the truth?"

He didn't answer, and I could see that the tables were turned now, and he was the one digging at old wounds. _Maybe it won't be so bad,_ I thought, _if I'm not drinking alone. That's not as bad, right?_ I stood, walked to the cabinet, and brought back a bottle with two glasses, one of which I offered to Draco.

His eyebrow quirked up again. "Isn't it a little early to be drinking?"

I didn't look him in the eye as I poured myself a glass. _It's never too early when you drink from sun-up to sundown._ I swirled the glass, watching the eddies of amber liquid until he spoke again.

"The truth," he said haltingly, "the truth is that neither Astoria nor I knew the person we married. In Astoria, I saw someone who wasn't afraid of me, who still stood by me after all I'd done. Beyond that, she was beautiful, and she was pure-blooded. At eighteen, what more could I want?

On Astoria's part, well… she believed the press. She'd watched me at Hogwarts as I entered into the ranks of the Death Eaters. She adored me, always told me how I was the greatest wizard she'd ever known. Like the press, she thought that I would grow more powerful, achieve the type of reign that Voldemort did. She married me not for love, but for the promise of power that she thought being my wife would someday afford her.

"For the first year or so, she was wonderful. Whatever I said, she supported. She was always telling me how I was destined to do great things. But then she started to realize that I wasn't trying to rise to power in any capacity. She became bitter, then angry, then downright cruel. She would constantly tell me how worthless I was, how I was a disappointment, how Voldemort should have killed me the moment I couldn't kill Dumbledore-"

He might have wiped away a tear, but it was too quick for me to tell.

"I stayed with her because I couldn't face the shame of divorcing my wife because she thought I wasn't good enough. How do you explain that?" His voice cracked, and he was silent for a minute as he visibly tried to regain his composure.

"Then one night, we had a huge fight- she tried to kill me, but her aim was off, and the curse barely missed me. I disapparated, went to a bar, got drunker than I've ever been. And then, along came Leila, this beautiful woman- I know that nothing excuses what I did that night, but- but in that moment, it didn't _feel_ wrong, Harry."

He shook his head, letting out a deep sigh. "The rest is history, I guess. Leila showing up on our doorstep with Alexander was all the excuse Astoria needed to divorce me. She knows I won't contest it, not after what I did, and she knows she can get money out of me…" He gave a sad smile. "I've already lost my job, my home, and my dignity, why not my fortune, too, right?"

I looked up sharply. "What do you mean, you lost your job?"

He sighed again. "I'm sure you know that, because I'm part Veela, I was made an ambassador to Bulgaria shortly after graduation?"

I nodded.

"Well, since Leila didn't know where I lived, she thought to stop by my office, since I'd mentioned that to her. Now, a questionable past in a very dark period of history can be forgiven by employers. But a current scandal involving an ambassador? Not so much. I received an owl with my pink slip* just minutes after I left the house with nothing but the clothes on my back- and Alexander."

My drink was gone, and I felt calm enough to offer solace. "You'll find another job, Draco." He didn't meet my eye. "Listen, you're damn good at what you do, and you know it. Other people know it, too, and they won't let some silly little drama get in the way of hiring you, I know it."

Draco appeared to remain unconvinced. "Thanks," he said.

"You just have to get out there and look, that's all."

"How am I going to do that," he asked, "when I have a baby to look after?"

"I'll look after him. And Kreacher can help."

He shook his head. "Harry, I can't ask you to do that. You have a job of your own to go to."

"I- I haven't really worked in a while, actually," I said, face flushing.

Those gray eyes searched my face once again. "What? Why not?"

What was I supposed to tell him? That they'd fired me? That I'd shown up plastered** too many times? That it was only out of respect for all I'd done for the wizarding world that they even did it quietly?

I couldn't bear the shame of telling him that.

"Let's just focus on you for now. Kreacher and I will help take care of Alexander so you can find a job, alright? It'll all work out, I promise."

I turned my back so he wouldn't see me cry.

… … … … … … … … … … … … …

***Pink slip= a notice of being fired from your job  
** Plastered= extremely drunk, beyond the point of functioning**

**(Just in case the slang confused anyone, I know I have international readers.)**

**I actually adore this chapter. Not because anything particularly interesting happened, but because of how much you find out about the characters. Harry, we see here, has a serious drinking problem that he's using to cope with the pain of Ginny's abandonment. Draco, on the other hand, has a past wrought with people who didn't understand him and what I would consider emotional abuse, yet he still accepts the consequences of his actions, even feels guilty about hurting the woman who never loved him an iota. And beyond all of that, you see how Draco has this innocent, almost childlike side to him, and Harry is already developing a tenderness for Draco that leads him to want to conceal his alcoholism and unemployment, as well as to watch everything Draco does with a tender, observant eye.**

**But I digress. Long story short, these are two pretty incredible characters, I'd say, and I thoroughly enjoyed getting to know them as I wrote this chapter. I hope you enjoyed it, too!**


	5. The Stitches of Reality

The good thing about parenting, I soon found, was that-like magic- it wasn't really talent-based. A good portion of both came from learning what you need to do, and the rest is just instinct. Therefore, it came to be that- despite the fact that neither Malfoy nor I had any experience with raising a baby- we weren't doing that bad of a job. Plus, Kreacher was there to offer help, having raised several generations of Blacks, and so was Hermione- after she got over the shock of it all.

"Harry!" She'd exclaimed when I told her about my new living situation. "It's _Malfoy_ for crying out loud, you can't just let him become your new roommate!"

"Why not?" I'd fired back. "I'm a grown man, no one's going to stop me. And the past is the past, you know how I feel about that!"

She'd spluttered and protested, but thankfully, Hermione was a girl. She positively melted the first time she saw Alexander, and from then on, advice on how to take care of a baby- "Can I give him gummies?" "He's crying and I don't know what to do!"- was just a floo trip away.

And so we fell into a routine. Every morning, bright and early- too bright and too early, in my opinion, but Alexander's needs offered little consideration for my schedule- Draco, Alexander and I would get up and have breakfast together, courtesy of Kreacher. It was worth getting up that early, though, just to see Draco with Alexander. He'd come a long way from the man I met in that bar, who'd had fatherhood thrust upon him and clearly resented it. Now, Alexander had put a twinkle in his eye- every giggle or gurgle had Draco enraptured. It was rewarding to see how Draco was letting his guard down, showing his tender side- and all because of a baby boy.

Plus, he still made faces when feeding him, and that was still amusing.

After breakfast, Draco would (reluctantly) leave Alexander with Kreacher and me and go off job hunting. He went to all different branches of the Ministry, from the Department of Magical law Enforcement to the Misuse of Muggle artifacts Office- with no luck. After a while, he started getting desperate, moving from Ministry positions to places like robe shops and apothecaries.

Meanwhile, my day-to-day life was being turned upside-down. Before, I was lying in bed, drinking constantly, too depressed to do much of anything. It was alright then, because I had no responsibilities, but now I had other things to do.

At first it was mainly Kreacher who looked after Alexander while I awkwardly stood by, but after a while, I started to take part as well. I would conjure a patronus for him to try to pet, or create a fireworks display of sparks from my wand. They were more like parlor tricks than real magic, but he adored them, so I never tired of performing them. Sometimes I would just lie there on the floor next to him and let him run his hands over my face, his little fingers poking and grasping what must have been interesting terrain, exploring the features with the endless curiosity of a child. It wasn't long before I was as firmly wrapped around Alexander's tiny little finger as Draco was.

The drinking changed, too. It had become secretive, something for late nights or stolen moments in the pantry. He never said anything about it, but I could always feel Draco's eyes on me, scorching my skin, whenever I had a bottle or a glass near me. I couldn't stand up under the weight of his judgment. So I found ways to hide it, sneaking around with my vice so that although he never saw me take a drink, I remained in a constant haze. Not too drunk, just drunk enough to make sure the stitches in my heart weren't ripped apart.

This went on for months. Draco kept searching for a job, but no one was interested in hiring him. It didn't help that he'd been right about Astoria. Two days after he'd moved in, the Daily prophet had arrived with a picture of Draco on the front page, underneath a big, bold headline of "Draco Malfoy: the Death Eater Daddy." Now, not only were witches and wizards refusing to give him a job, they were turning him away at the door.

As his desperation increased, Draco's tension mounted. Towards Kreacher he was polite, towards me he was friendly, and towards Alexander he was doting as ever, but there were moments when he thought no one was looking that I would see the façade slip, and a simmering anger would show in the lines of his face.

One night in particular he was less composed than usual. A slamming front door announced his arrival, but it was not followed by the usual flurry of robes as Draco would rush in to seek comfort from his son. Instead, I heard him shuffling around in the kitchen, the scrape of a chair being pulled back, and then silence.

I left Alexander in the living room playpen and sought Draco in the kitchen. He was sitting at the table, staring blankly at the wall.

"What's wrong? " I asked, fearing the worst. Was someone hurt- someone dead?

"Nothing."

"Bullshit, Malfoy."

He grimaced. "Nothing more than usual, then. No one's taking me, Harry. No one. It's like I've been branded as scum because of one mistake. They won't even look me in the goddamn eye."

I reached out and squeezed his shoulder- probably the most intimate contact we'd ever had. "I understand what you mean-"

"No, you don't!" he shouted, standing and turning to face me, flinging my hand away from him as he did so. "You have no fucking clue!" It was unnatural, the fiery look in his eyes. I knew it wasn't directed towards me-at least, not really- so I tried down to swallow down my own anger as it rose to meet his. "You're Harry fucking Potter," he spat, "and everybody's convinced that you shit rainbows, so no, you _don't_ fucking understand!"

My face flushed as I felt the practiced calm and the alcohol in my system being burned away by my temper. "What the fuck are you talking about? You're a goddamn idiot! I've spent half of my life being torn down by the entire wizarding world as crazy, or a liar, or power-hungry, or evil, so yeah, I _do_ know what you're fucking going through!" Alexander let out a wail in the other room, most likely due to our raised voices, but I couldn't seem to care. I simply shouted over him. "Your judgment is too clouded by your jumbo-sized Malfoy ego to see that you're not the only fucking one that's ever been persecuted!"

"_My_ judgment is clouded?!" he roared. "You've got your head stuck too far down the neck of your firewhiskey bottle to see _anything_! You're right, I am a goddamn idiot, because I actually trust _you _to look after my son!"

I felt the color drain out of my face. "What- what are you talking about?"

"You're an alcoholic, Harry, I'm not fucking blind! You're drunk 24/7. You think you're clever enough to hide it, but you're not!"

In the silence that followed, Alexander's wails rose clearly through the house. "When the hell did this turn into a conversation about me?" I spluttered.

His voice was harsh, unforgiving. "It's about you because I don't know that I can do this anymore, Harry! Yeah, you saved my ass when you took us in, and I'm grateful for that, but take a goddamn look at yourself, man! Look at what you've become…" His voice actually broke, and I could see tears in his eyes. "I don't think I can ever repay you for supporting me all these months, but- but what kind of parent would I be if the only role model I gave my son was an alcoholic recluse?"

I tried to hold onto my anger, because it was easier than despair, easier than the pain spreading through me as I felt the stitches holding my heart together ripping apart mercilessly with the knowledge of what was about to happen. "What does it matter what I am?" I gasped. "I'm not his father!"

A tear escaped from Draco's incredibly sad eyes. "Harry… you're as much of a father to him as I am."

And then he left.

… … … … … … … … … … … … …

**BRB, crying. **

**Sorry for the language, my boys say bad things when they're angry. Ohhh wellll.**

**Talk to me, por favor?**


	6. Former Glory, Affected

**Before we start, I want to set the scene for you. If you've seen The Dark Knight Rises (which you should, it's freakin awesome), Harry is sort of like Bruce Wayne is in that movie. He's been holed away in his home, no one knows where he is, or if he's even alive, and he's pretty much all anyone's been talking about (except Draco, of course, but Harry's disappearance is even more important to the gossipy wizarding world).**

… … … … … … … … … … … … …

The only noise in the house came from the tick-tock of the clock on the wall and my own shallow breathing. Draco was gone. Alexander was gone. Kreacher was off hiding somewhere, as he'd been doing all night. Kreacher had always been a smart elf.

It had been a terrible night. I could hardly remember it- only flashes of anger and pain made it through, most of it lost to alcohol and rage. At some point, either I'd stumbled upstairs, or Kreacher had taken me up after I'd passed out drunk. Now the morning had come, sunlight peeking through the curtains on my bedroom window.

I shifted slightly in bed and heard a clinking noise. The bedspread was covered in empty bottles- I'd come up under my own power. I glanced at the clock. It was one in the afternoon already, I realized, groaning, and the door to my bedroom creaked open as if on cue.

"Master's really done himself in this time," Kreacher said.

"Wh- what?" I stuttered, shocked at the candid nature of his reproach.

His big eyes didn't move from mine, and his voice did not waver. "Drinking himself silly when he's alone is one thing. Master only hurts himself. But now Master has run off Mister Malfoy and the baby Malfoy, and hasn't learned a thing. Master can't go on hurting other people. It's not what he would have wanted himself to do, back when he was happy."

_Back when I was happy..._ But that was too long ago to remember. I climbed from bed and stumbled to the bathroom to look at myself in the mirror, and felt my heart sink. My eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with red. I was unshaven, hair even more unkempt than usual, with vomit down the front of my shirt.

I was disgusting.

I reached out a trembling hand and touched my reflection in the mirror. What had I become? I was a monster, created of my own selfishness. Kreacher was right, the old me –the me that existed back in happier times- would be ashamed of me now.

It seemed like it was decades since I had been a decent man. When was I last happy? I cast my mind back, straining for a memory of a smile or a laugh… and I shocked myself. _Back when I was happy _appeared not to be what I expected. When I tried to remember my happiest days, I saw not my marriage with Ginny, not the days after the war, not even my childhood at Hogwarts.

I saw Draco.

I saw mornings stumbling from bed and down to the kitchen to watch him make funny faces, and glancing at the clock all afternoon waiting for him to come home, and being so eager to please him that I'd tried to hide all my faults. I felt the protective urge that came over me whenever he was upset, and the honest and desperate hopes that I had for his happiness, and the incredible, heart-swelling joy I felt at being a part of his son's life.

_Harry… you're as much of a father to him as I am._

"Kreacher," I called, unable to tear my teary eyes from my own reflection. The little elf appeared behind me. "I'm going to need my razor."

… … … … … … … … … … … … …

It had taken over an hour of trimming, shaving, sprucing and ironing, but finally, I was restored- at least outwardly- to all of my former glory. My hair was perfectly rumpled, my face freshly shaven and smooth as silk. My eyes, thanks to Kreacher's doctoring, were no longer red, but vibrantly green. All the smell of alcohol and vomit was gone, replaced by the scents of mint and laundry- though the latter was due more to the fresh, perfectly tailored suit I was wearing than to any actual design. Everything from my head to my toes was in perfect condition.

I was no longer that monster from the mirror. I was Harry Potter- the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, the greatest wizard of the century, the savior of the wizarding world, and the symbol of everything upright and courageous in the world.

I was ready to go out.

Disdaining the floo network- to get soot on my clothes, after all of that work?- I instead apparated into the last place I'd ever been seen. The bar in Diagon Alley was deserted this time of day, as very few people publicly drank at 3 pm, but the barkeep was there, smoking a cigar at one of the tables pushed against the wall. He looked up sharply, and seemed in danger of losing his cigar as his mouth fell open in surprise.

"Mis'er Po'er!" he exclaimed. "But you're- but you- where've you been?"

I smiled a little despite myself. "I hadn't realized we were so close that you'd miss me so dearly if I chose to drink at home," I said with a wink.

"Well a'course I'm glad ter see you again, but it's not jus me 'at was wonderin' where you've been!" His eyes were wide as saucers, and I frowned at him. "Haven' you been readin' the Prophet, Mis'er Po'er?"

"I've made it a point not to, actually. Why, what rubbish is it spreading around now?"

Tom's face darkened a little. "I don' know what ter believe these days, Mis'er Po'er. But ev'ry witch wizard n child 'as been speculatin' 'bout what happened ter ya!" He shuffled behind the bar and threw a copy of yesterday's Daily Prophet on the counter for me to see. "Yeh've been gone fer months, Mis'er Po'er, an no one knew 'as you were even alive. People reckoned you was dead or summat…" I glanced at the paper he'd taken out, and saw that the headline did indeed declare, "Harry Potter Remains Unfound: Where Is Our Hero?"

I pushed the paper back to him, shaking my head. "Well I can assure you I'm not dead," I said, trying to affect a joking tone. In reality, I was worried. If my credibility was marred by the fact that no one had seen me in months, would my plan still work? "I've got to be off though."

"Can I get yer a drink 'afore you go, sir?"

"No can do, Tom, I'm out on business," I called out as I stepped out of the bar and into the sunny summer afternoon in Diagon Alley.

Almost immediately, the flow of the marketplace was interrupted. Conversations broke off, children stopped playing, pedestrians paused in mid step to turn and look at me. I forced a smile to my lips as I took on an attitude of careless confidence that I knew the world expected me to have. I was Harry Potter, I was supposed to be on top of the world, even if I _had_ disappeared off of the face of the earth.

After a minute, the stillness of shock in the alley had worn off, and an explosion of noise and motion took its place. People pressed around me, calling my name and straining to see if it was true- was Harry Potter out and about in Diagon Alley? I continued to walk forward, the crowd parting to let me through and then following closely behind me.

"Harry Potter, where have you been?" a very short, very bald wizard panted from somewhere near my left elbow.

"A sabbatical," I replied shortly.

"Are the rumors true?" called a witch.

"What rumors are you referring to? There seem to be new ones every hour."

"That you're injured, and you can't do magic anymore!" she said.

I snorted. "Is that really what people have been saying? Come on, you can be more creative than that."

The witch giggled. Questions continued to follow me all the way down the street and up the steps of Gringotts. Even when I re-emerged from the bank, I had to fight through swarms of people ranging from curious to adoring. As I'd suspected, regardless of how far I'd fallen, all it had taken to rise again in the eyes of the wizarding world was a little wit and an affected confidence.

I raised my hands, and the crowd hushed almost immediately. "Now, I'm sure you're all glad that I'm not dead, ill, injured, rendered magic-less, incarcerated, exported to a foreign country, or- what was that one about the troll? However," I said over the titters of laughter, "I have business to attend to, and I really must be getting along. If you'll excuse me-"

I apparated to the Ministry, where at least people had the decorum to confine their shock to whispers and stares instead of crowding around me. I headed straight for the elevators, but in my haste I ran right into the tall, dark form Kingsley Shacklebolt, long-time ally and freshly appointed Minister of Magic. A smile spread across my face. "Hello, Minister," I said, offering him my hand.

He looked surprised to see me, and shook my hand vigorously, but after a moment his expression turned grave. He stepped closer, dropping his voice to a low whisper so that the many people now watching us wouldn't hear. "I need a word with you, Potter."

"Everything alright?" I said sharply. Just like when Draco came home so upset, my mind started to spin. I had been long detached from the world- who knows what could have happened in the interim? How would I handle it if I had just re-emerged into a world that had been overcome by new dark wizards while I drank myself under the table?

"As far as I know, everything is fine," Kingsley said quickly. "But you can't just return to work like nothing happened," he whispered angrily. "It took a lot to make it seem like you were just retiring, and I can only do so much for you if you insist constantly disappearing and then waltzing into the Ministry with a boyish grin. Although you do seem to be doing a lot better," he added after a thoughtful pause.

"I'm not here for my job, Kingsley," I said, and he pulled back, visibly surprised. "I have other business here, for a friend."

"Oh. I'm sorry, I-"

"We'll have to talk about that some other time, though," I said. "I've got to be off." I pretended to look at my watch as I backed towards the elevator.

"Right," he muttered, looking at me long and hard. "Take care of yourself, Harry."

"Of course," I said, climbing onto the elevator. "And Kingsley?"

"Hmmm?"

"I am better." The doors slid shut, cutting off my view of his thoughtful expression. I could feel shame spreading through me as I pondered his words. The exhaustion and frustration he felt towards me were apparent, and for the first time I appreciated what he'd done for me, despite all of the disappointment I'd put him through. He had gone to great lengths to help me out, and all I'd done thus far to repay him was to fail him.

Like I failed everyone else in my life.

I punched the button for level 3. Everyone in the elevator seemed to be pointedly trying not to comment on my presence, though I could feel eyes boring into the back of my head. I stepped off the elevator into a spacious hallway and strode off down it until I came to a glass door with the name of the office etched across it in gold font: Department of International Magical Relations.

The witch at the front desk stared at me with wide eyes. "Mister Potter! How- how can I help you today?"

"I need to speak with Mr. Robinson, please."

"Do you have an appointment?"

"No, I don't."

She seemed genuinely disappointed. "I can't let you in without an appointment."

I eyed her carefully. "Is he with someone right now?"

"Well," she replied nervously, "no, not right now, but-"

I strode over to the door with his name on it. "Well, we'll just see if he's busy, how about that?" I pushed open the door, and the tall, thin wizard at the desk within looked up in surprise. "Ah, it's alright, he doesn't seem to be busy at all! Thank you!" I called to the shocked receptionist as I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. "Don't blame her, she tried to stop me, but I'm afraid it's quite urgent," I said to him. "How are you, Mr. Robinson?"

He hurried to shake my hand. "I'm quite well, Mr. Potter! So good to see you! We've never been formally introduced, but I know who you are, of course- what brings you here? Please, sit, sit!"

I sat down in the chair across from his desk and consciously tried to channel all of the charm that I'd been affecting since I left my house that morning. It was taxing, even just pretending to be the lovable hero everyone knew. Already, my mind was turning back to the cabinet in my kitchen. A drink would help me calm my nerves a little, would help me play this part… "I need a favor, to be honest."

Robinson's gray eyebrows shot up. "A favor? From me?"

"Yes. But it's not on my behalf. It's about- well, it's about Draco Malfoy."

Robinson's face fell. That eagerness that he'd shown when I first entered his office was one, replaced by apprehension. "It's unfortunate, that business about his affair, isn't it? So shocking."

"Mmm. Mr. Robinson, why did you decide to fire Draco Malfoy?"

He fidgeted in his chair, not meeting my eye. "After the story got out about his mistress, and the child- well, he works in the public, you see, and- we couldn't have someone with a bad reputation representing our country, could we?" His stuttering voice trailed off.

"Oh, come on," I said with a smile. "It's not really all that bad! People have affairs all the time! People do stupid things, and if every mistake, even every public mistake, were punished by dismissal, we wouldn't have but a dozen people in our government, am I right?"

"I suppose so," he said slowly. I stared at him, taking in his apprehension. Was he always so cowering, or was it just me? I certainly hoped he did a better job of representing Britain than he did of representing his own judgment.

"I'm going to be frank with you, Mr. Robinson. I think you were wrong to fire Mr. Malfoy. He's just as good a man as you or I. And from what I understand, he's certainly one of the best ambassadors that has ever passed through this office- am I correct in that statement?"

"He was certainly good at his job, of course-"

"And you don't seem like the kind of man that would want to sabotage his country."

"Of course not, why would you-!"

"So it would be ridiculous to think that you would deny this ministry so fine an ambassador as Draco Malfoy just because of a little publicity nonsense."

I could see his stress level rising under the intensity of my gaze. "Perhaps it was hasty of me to fire him as I did, but now it's much too late, I can't change that!"

"Sure you can. Call Malfoy and tell him that his job is available to him once again."

Robinson gasped quietly. "You want me to- to re-hire him?"

"Yes, that's what I want you to do. And," I said, rising from my seat and moving towards the door, "I expect that you'll have sent him an owl telling him that you'd like him back before the day is over, am I right?"

"I- well, I-"

"And you'll be apologizing for firing him in the first place, since we've both concluded that it was a hasty move, certainly."

"I can't- I mean, I would have to- I-"

"And Mr. Robinson?"

The poor man looked close to tears. "Y-yes?"

"If you're lucky, he'll accept."

… … … … … … … … … … … … …

**Here's the authoritative Harry we all know and love! Read that like he's a total badass, because that's how I wrote it :D**

**Did anyone see that coming? I'm just curious if anyone suspected that, up until he went to the ministry.**


	7. Funerals

**Sorry this was a while in coming, I'm working on another project, which I will get into further at the end of the chapter! Anyways, enjoy :)**

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The noise and motion of Diagon Alley only made my empty home seem that much darker and quieter in comparison as I shut the door behind me and leaned against it. I braced myself against it, holding out the world and holding in my nerves. It had been a long time since I'd had to fight that hard to look normal. It used to be that every day I was in the public light, smiling for cameras and shaking hands in the streets, but in the recent past, I only had to fool myself into believing that everything was alright.

As the ringing of over-loud voices faded from my ears, I felt my heart sinking. What did it matter? More than likely that man was sitting in his office, shaking his head over how odd it had been to have me in his office and no more likely to re-hire Draco than he'd been yesterday. I'd put too much stock in my former influence; respect that might once have swayed men to move mountains was gone now, replaced by the offhand acknowledgement of myself of a washed-up has-been. _At least you tried._

But that was no comfort to me as I tried to stand up under the weight of my own failure. Like a magnet, that cabinet drew my eyes. I seemed to lose control of my body for a moment, and I was walking towards it, reaching out, opening it, trailing my gaze over the crystalline bottles of liquid forgetfulness. My arm extended, and cold fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle-

_No._

I slammed the cabinet door shut, breathing heavily. I would not. I could not.

It was at a pace somewhere between a run and a sprint that I moved up the stairs, stripped down to my boxers, and fell into bed. The day was still fading, and in the dusky light I could see that Kreacher had cleared away the bottles. For a while I just lay there on top of the covers and stared up at the ceiling, thinking. Thinking about a drink, and about Draco, and about how much I already missed having him here.

Eventually darkness fell, and I felt myself start to shiver. I crawled beneath the covers, but it didn't help much- the chill is hard to keep out when it comes from within. I tried to breathe, to hold my heart together, as I gave way to restless sleep and turbulent dreams.

_Draco was older now, silver hair falling around a face that was still handsome, but riddled with lines. He was sitting in a chair at the front of a dim room filled with somber people wearing black. I walked to him, reaching out a hand to touch his shoulder. He looked up at me and shrugged off my hand as anger took over his features. "You shouldn't have come."_

"_What happened?" I said, much too slowly. I was drunk. "Where are we?"_

"_It's your fault he's dead," Draco yelled at me. My brain was moving too slow. I turned around and looked at the front of the room, which was now occupied by a casket. I didn't want to look inside, but my feet moved closer and I was peering inside. _

_It was Alexander. A young man, as handsome as his father had ever been, but wrong somehow. Face unshaven. Hair uncombed. Reeking of vomit. Clothes a mess. A monster like me._

_I stumbled back. There was no air in my lungs, I couldn't scream, but Draco was screaming for me. "YOU WERE HIS FATHER, HARRY! WHY DIDN'T YOU PROTECT HIM FROM THIS? WHY DID YOU MAKE HIM LIKE YOU?"_

_And I was crying, I couldn't breathe. It was all my fault, Draco was right. I'd made Alexander what he'd become, I had killed him. I had _killed _him. _I had killed my son.

"_Harry!" Draco said. "Harry! Harry!"_

"Harry!"

I woke with a start and tears still in my eyes. The darkness was only barely penetrated by moonlight, and for a moment, I couldn't understand why I'd woken. But the moonlight was touching the curve of a shoulder, the line of a jaw, the silvery hue of an eye, and with a gasp I saw who sat inches from me on my bed.

Draco lit his wand, and more details of the room came into focus. He was wearing his cloak, breathing heavily, and looking at me with wide eyes. "Are you alright?"

"Er," I grumbled, "what? Yeah, I'm fine, why?"

"You were screaming." The way the light caught his eyes and made them look as deep as the ocean was unfair. I couldn't breathe when his face was so tense with concern. Concern for me, of all people.

I looked away. "Nothing. Bad dream. What- what are you doing here?"

"I got my job back."

I smiled at the carpet next to the bed, my heart feeling just a little bit lighter. _You did it_. "That's great, Malfoy. I'm happy for you."

"I'm staying with a friend and Alexander's with my mother. I was on my way home when I got the owl from my old boss. It's strange- he says he's had a change of heart, and that he's sorry he let me go in the first place. He practically begged me to come back."

I swallowed hard, still unable to look at him. "Smart man."

"You know what else was strange about my evening? I picked up a copy of the Daily Prophet on my way home, and you're in it, Harry. Front page news." He pressed the paper into my hands, and I saw myself striding through Diagon Alley amongst a crowd of wizards with an affected grin on my face beneath a headline of "Harry Potter re-emerges and visits the Ministry!"

I didn't say anything.

His hand reached out, took hold of my chin, and turned my face to look at his. My heart stuttered just a little bit. "Harry."

"Draco."

"Tell me the truth. Did you have anything to do with this?"

He wasn't angry, or hurt, or embarrassed, or anything I was afraid he might be. All I could find in his eyes- his wide and shining pools of silver- was an honest entreaty. My mind told me not to torture myself with the thought of him returning to me. I should just deny having anything to do with it and let him leave now, before I got hurt anymore.

But I couldn't lie to that face.

"I had to," I said, my voice a whisper. "I had to provide for you, for Alexander. That's what a father's supposed to do, isn't it?" And a tear rolled down his cheek as his face broke into the most glorious smile I'd ever seen- the only warning I had before he took my face in his hands, pulled me to him, and kissed me.

My heart pounded, my blood rushed, my head spun, and it was all I could do to cling to this moment. It was as if everything in my life- every broken piece of my soul- was being put back together in that instant. I had no scars, no fear, no pain, no doubt. I had nothing like it. But I did have Draco.

He pulled away- too soon- but kept his face close to mine. "That's exactly what fathers do." I could feel more tears on his cheeks, and I pulled back to look at him. "I'm so sorry, Harry," he whispered. "I should have never left. You stayed beside me when I was nothing but a deadbeat dad with nothing to his name, and _I abandoned you._"

"No," I said, feeling choked. "You were right, I'm no good. I'm no good for Alexander and- and I'm no good for you." My eyes stung, and I bit the inside of my cheek, praying to whoever was listening that I could keep it together long enough to convince him to leave. Just because I'd fooled the world for an hour into thinking that I was okay didn't mean that I was better. I was still a drunk, an addict, an irresponsible asshole. And though my mind was still reeling from the fact that _Draco Malfoy had kissed me_, I couldn't let myself forget that I was the worst thing that had ever, would ever, happen to him.

But Draco was laughing- inexplicably, inappropriately laughing as he touched my face. "Harry, you just don't get it, do you? _You're the best thing that ever happened to me_."

And he kissed me again. And again. And again and again and so many times that I lost track of where and who I was, and all I was aware of was Draco's mouth on mine and his fingers on my face and his warmth so close to my skin. Was it hours, or days later that I found the words to beg him, "Stay with me"?

It had been a long time since someone had laid down beside me, had let me hold them until they fell asleep. He'd taken his shirt off and stretched out next to me, looking for all the world like some deity that had come to earth in some sort of miracle. The moonlight seemed not to know what to do, because it seemed to rest solely upon his beautiful face. It must have been at least a year that I lay in that bed, looking at the curl of his eyelashes, and the way his chest rose and fell…

There was a scar on that chest, arching across his skin. My mind turned back to that day, years ago now, that I'd cursed him using sectumsempra. I remembered the pain, the fear, the blood… All over again, it became hard to breathe- but not for joy, for regret. I may not have been a monster back then, but nonetheless, I'd hurt him. There was a scar on Draco Malfoy's body that _I had given him._

"I promise you that I will never hurt you again," I whispered to him, and the night seemed to hear it and accept my promise. I leaned over and ever so gently kissed that scar. Draco sighed in his sleep and reached out a hand for me. I kissed that, too, then stood and crept from the room.

The air in the house was silent and still as I approached the cabinet once again, opened it and gathered every single bottle in my arms. I snuck out the back door and over to the bushes that lined the edge of the property. One by one, I uncorked the bottles and listened to the quiet _glug, glug _of the poison seeping out and into the ground. When they were all empty, I vanished the bottles and stood for a moment, watching the leaves drip softly.

Tonight was not only a beginning- it was also an end.

… … … … … … … … … … … … …

Draco stood in the window, gazing out into the night. He'd felt Harry leave immediately- the warmth had seemed to leak out of the room- and had risen to see where he'd gone. Now there he could see Harry in the yard below, bottles in his arms, destroying what was probably his greatest love. Draco watched as Harry seemed to stand in farewell for a moment, as a man would stand by the grave as an old friend was lowered into it. A funeral for his vice.

But this was no mournful farewell, because the stars threw down just enough light for Draco to see a smile on Harry's lips. He was happy to see it go, and as he turned to walk back into the house, Draco couldn't help but smile, too. He would be a great father and lover yet.

Draco crawled back into bed, pretending to be asleep as harry returned and lay down beside him. Harry was perfection, whatever he thought of himself.

_This _was perfection.

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**I know that I was only doing 1****st**** person HPOV for the whole story, but I just had to put that bit in the end. Draco is very aware of how hard Harry is trying to change, and he loves him even more for it.**

**Special shout out to haruichi4 for asking about the sectumsempra scar and really getting me thinking about this chapter and how it would play out between these two. Ten points to your house for thinking even harder than I did!**

_**IF ANYONE WOULD LIKE TO BE A HUGE HELP TO ME, I'M CURRENTLY WRITING A NON-FANFIC NOVEL RIGHT NOW THAT I WANT SOME LOVELY PEOPLE TO READ A TEASER/SYNOPSIS OF TO GET YOUR OPINIONS ON IT. IT'S SCI-FI, AND I NEED PEOPLE TO BE BRUTALLY HONEST WITH ME ABOUT WHETHER THEY THINK IT'S A GOOD IDEA OR NOT! PLEASE PM ME IF YOU'RE INTERESTED IN GIVING IT A READ AND I'LL SEND IT YOUR WAY. MUCH APPRECIATED!**_


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